


Home was a dream

by hellcsweetie



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23921143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellcsweetie/pseuds/hellcsweetie
Summary: 5 times Harvey woke up to Donna
Relationships: Donna Paulsen/Harvey Specter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	Home was a dream

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Jason Isbell's absolutely lovely "Cover Me Up".

_But home was a dream_

_One I’d never seen 'till you came along_

1.

Harvey wakes up to a stark light shining straight down into his eyes. He blinks repeatedly, feeling an unexpected pain in his eye sockets. His throat is dry and he has cotton mouth and his body is stiff all over. He isn't sure what is going on, he just remembers being in his office signing some documents and now he's here.

Apparently in a hospital, as he notices the gown and the needle stuck into the back of his hand.

"Hey, you're up," he hears a familiar voice. He follows it, turning to his left, and finds Donna sitting there, leaning towards him. 

"Yeah," he answers dumbly. She doesn't seem awfully worried but her fingers are reddened, he guesses from being wrung repeatedly during the time it took him to wake up.

"What happened?" he frowns at the lack of memory and at the slight slur in his words.

"Your appendix burst," Donna presses her lips together, as if bracing for his reaction.

" _What_?" 

"Yeah," she shakes her head helplessly and huffs out an incredulous laugh, "One minute we were going through your schedule for the day, the next you're hissing and clutching your stomach and then you just... blacked out."

His frown deepens. He does not remember any of this. At all.

"I called emergency and we came here and you had surgery," she finishes, maybe a little too straightforwardly.

"What?" he practically squeals as he shoves the covers off. He belatedly realizes he's naked beneath his hospital gown and, in order to take a proper look at where he assumes the traces of said surgery will be, he'd have to hike up the fabric and would end up taking his relationship with Donna to a level neither are ready to go. He palms his side instead, carefully prodding until he finds what feels like stitches. It doesn't hurt to touch, just makes him squirm.

"You're on morphine," Donna explains, probably following his line of thought.

"How long has it been?" he turns back to her.

She checks her watch. "Uhm, almost three hours." Harvey settles back against his pillows, at a loss. Donna scoots her chair closer, moving further into his line of vision.

"They said it's normal for the person to pass out sometimes, it's the body's reaction to the burst. We rushed over here and you went straight into the operation room. Apparently it went well, it lasted a little over an hour and then you just had to sleep off the meds," she explains, tone audibly measured to sound reassuring. "You'll have to spend the afternoon here, but if everything remains fine you'll be able to sleep at home."

He nods, dumbfounded. None of it seems real, it feels like an elaborate prank or something.

"Have you been here this whole time?" is the first thing he thinks to ask, the first of many questions he needs answered on the way to making sense of everything.

Donna nods. "I rode the ambulance with you."

It's a simple statement, and a simple gesture, really. They've been friends for years now and there's no doubt in his mind that he'd do the same for her should she ever collapse in front of him. Still, it touches him for some reason, makes his chest tingle.

"Thanks, Donna," he says quietly.

Her face softens and she smiles a little. "You don't have to thank me." Then, "You just have to give me a huge bonus."

He rolls his eyes but he knows she can spot the affection behind his smirk. "You know, come to think of it, you just did what any decent human being would do so you're right, I don't have to thank you."

"I don't care about being decent, Harvey, I care about the new bag Hermés released this week," she deadpans, her smart-ass tone alive and well. It's their banter and it's familiar and comforting.

"This is crazy," he shakes his head after a while, looking around the room, "I don't even remember being in any pain."

"Yeah," she exhales, "You didn't mention any pain either, you just shut down." Harvey's inspecting his life monitor but he senses Donna wants to add something, so he just waits, gives her space.

"It was pretty terrifying," she finally adds, voice tiny, though she's smiling a little when he looks at her.

He gives her a sheepish grimace. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"I know," her smile widens sweetly and she nods. There's a beat, and then she leans forward and catches his wrist, wrapping her fingers around it. Her hand is warm against his and she watches him as his gaze trails down to their joined hands.

Again, it's a simple gesture, reassurance to fight off the nerves that insist on bubbling inside of him and she can probably see. He knows it wasn't serious, he's healthy and fit and is bound to make a full and speedy recovery and as far as surgeries go, an appendix removal is about as safe as it gets. Still, there's something deeply unsettling about the notion that he was cut open and sewn back together and he didn't even know.

So her hand on his wrist, as simple as it is, right now feels like a lifeline. He clings to her warmth and her proximity and tries not to think about all the other things in his body that could have burst instead. 

"By the way," she squeezes his arm before letting go and leaning back against her chair, "I asked Ray to get us lunch. The food here sucks."

The comment catches him by surprise and he laughs. All in all, he's just really glad Donna is here with him right now.

2.

"Harvey," he hears faintly in the distance, and he wonders if it's part of his dream.

"Harvey," Donna calls again, a little more forcefully, and he feels his arm being shaken gently. Nope, not a dream.

"Hm?" he mumbles, rubbing his eyes against the dust settled there. Light filters through and he sees her crouching in front of him. He yawns and Donna smirks.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty."

"Really? That's all you could come up with?" he counters grumpily, sitting up on the couch. His neck screams at him. He is decidedly too old to sleep anywhere that's not a bed.

"No, actually, I also came up with this," she shoves a coffee into his chest, tone sassy and so very much Donna, "And a fresh suit."

He fumbles for the cup, clutching it to himself before his brain catches up and he lifts it to his lips, taking a sip.

"Suit? No, I'm going home to shower."

"No time," Donna shakes her head, "Preston will be here in half an hour."

"What?" his eyes widen and he checks his watch. "Shit."

"Yeah," she flashes him her I-told-you-so face, "So next time you wanna give me crap about my sleep-related jokes, just remember who's making sure you don't look like an absolute idiot in front of the client who's on the verge of leaving this firm." 

"Okay, smart-ass, did you remember-"

"That James Preston absolutely hates the color navy and so you have to wear one of your gray suits? Yes," Donna cuts him off easily.

"Alright," he purses his lips, "But what about-"

"The fact that he loves silly patterns on ties? Of course, that's why I got your rabbit Ferragamo one."

" _Fine_. And what do you suggest if-"

"If he decides to stay? You take him to lunch at Giorgio's with the 12 o'clock reservation I made you," Donna leans against his desk, entirely too pleased with herself.

Truthfully, Harvey is relieved. Had she not arranged everything and woken him up on time, he might have lost this meeting and the client with it. Still, he's not about to change their dynamics, so instead of thanking her he just rolls his eyes at her antics and sips his coffee.

"Seriously, Harvey, it's been seven years. Your complete disbelief in my abilities is getting a little old," she quips, seeing right through him, and he hides his smirk in the rim of his cup.

"Spill it out, how much is this little stunt gonna cost me?" he motions at her, finishing his coffee.

"Oh, nothing," she pretends to inspect her nails, "Just a fancy lunch tomorrow and next Friday early so I can watch a special showing of Swan Lake by the New York City Ballet." He twists the corner of his mouth in mock-contempt. "And a new pair of shoes if he does stay, obviously," she finishes, stealing a sly glance at him.

"Obviously," he retorts pointedly.

Donna grins and snaps. "Come on, pretty boy, you have to go get ready or all my efforts will have been in vain."

He picks up the suit, shirt and tie and retreats to the partners' bathroom. When he comes back, fresh-faced and ready to tackle this meeting, there is another cup of coffee waiting on his desk and a muscle relaxant in case the kink in his neck doesn't let up. Donna is conspicuously absent from her post, probably giving him space to fully bask in her glory. He shakes his head and chuckles. This woman.

His office is also tidied up, the files from last night neatly piled on the coffee table and the documents he needs for the meeting laid out on his desk. He collects everything, throws her desk a final glance, smirks and makes his way to meet Jim.

Later in the afternoon, as soon as he gets a quiet moment, he leans back in his chair and watches Donna's reaction as her calendar chimes with a pop-up invite for lunch tomorrow at that new sky-bar place she's been meaning to go to. Then another one, a one-hour appointment for Saturday next week at Louboutin. 

She never looks back at him, but he knows she's smiling that triumphant little smile of hers. 

She accepts the first invite, but sends back a new suggested time for the second one - a two-hour appointment at Louboutin.

Harvey shakes his head and rolls his eyes before clicking "Accept". 

3.

"Hey," Donna pats his cheek in what Harvey thinks is the exact limit of acceptable, just shy of an actual slap.

"Stop," he frowns and slurs, regaining a shred of his conscience. He tries to swat her hand away but the move is halfhearted. 

"No, you stop. I can't carry you up, you're gonna have to walk on your own," she replies, having exactly none of his crap. Her tone sounds annoyed - not the fond kind, the real kind - and it sobers him up a little.

He looks around; they're in a cab that just pulled up at his condo. He grunts, clearing his throat, and straightens up. Donna is already out of the car and opening his door. He braces a hand against the back rest and swings forward, but loses his footing and collapses back into the seat. Donna rolls her eyes and extends a hand. He grips her forearm firmly and tries again, and this time he makes it out of the car. She closes the door behind him and sends off the driver while he pinches the bridge of his nose. He's dizzy, very dizzy, very clearly on the wrong side of drunk. He's usually very good at holding his liquor, but tonight he just wasn't in the mood to hold back, apparently.

Donna grabs his elbow. "You need to lean on me?" she offers, though her tone isn't terribly generous. Harvey decides to get his shit together as best as he can, because he's already fought with way too many people tonight. He knows she's gonna bring it up upstairs anyway.

"No," he grunts again, "I think I can manage it." The first step forward isn't very promising, but he eventually finds his footing. He feels Donna's hands dig into his arm every time he sways but they make it up the elevator. He pats his pockets awkwardly for his keys.

"It's- You usually put them in the inside one," she pats her own left side and he mimics her, hearing a jingle. He fishes the keys out, struggles with the lock for a second, then opens the door. 

"Go freshen up, I'll make you some coffee," she tells him once they're inside, dropping her purse on the kitchen island.

"It's fine, Donna, I just need to get some sleep," he tries to wave her off, caught between being grateful for her help and tired of her superiority.

"If you go to bed right now you'll wake up with a killer hangover," she retorts matter-of-factly, unaffected by him. She rummages through his cupboards, sighing at an empty flour container and setting it on the counter before reaching for the coffee can.

He knows better than to argue, so he goes to his bedroom and ditches his jacket and cufflinks. The tie gives him a bit of a hard time, not as easy to untie with his fumbling fingers. Defeated, he shuffles back to the kitchen and stops in front of her with a heavy sigh. She stares at him questioningly for a second, then notices the tie and he thinks he sees her face soften a fraction as she undoes the bow. That gives him hope that maybe she isn't completely done with him.

He washes his face and the world spins violently around him. He feels himself regaining some grip on reality, which leaves him in the very not-fun stage of feeling wobbly and sick, but just sober enough to be aware that right now he's a lousy drunk.

When he drags himself back to the living room, barefoot and with his shirttails wrinkled, she has a glass of water, an alka-seltzer and a cup of coffee ready for him. He takes the medicine and settles onto a stool. They sip their coffee in silence, probably to give him room to adjust.

"Are we changing our policy about getting drunk at work events now?" she asks finally, because of course.

"Just for this special occasion," he retorts dryly, not in the mood for her teasing.

"What happened to 'Never let your oponents see you stumble'?" she lifts a brow and damn, his lines really do suck.

"Oponents? I thought tonight we were surrounded by all our friends from our new firm," he fakes a chipper tone, sarcasm dripping from his lips even though Donna had no part in any aspect of this.

She exhales heavily. "I know you think you're the huge victim here because Jessica went behind your back, but don't forget you're double-crossing her too. Whatever mess is brewing, you're right there in the middle with your hands dirty."

"Donna, I just had to sit through a gala thrown by some English schmuck who's literally gonna buy my name partnership from under me, so if you could just wait 'till tomorrow to bring out the 'holier-than-thou parade', that'd be great," he huffs, sourly swirling the coffee inside his mug.

"This isn't about me being holier than thou, Harvey, though we both know I am," she sets down her mug a little forcefully, startling Harvey, "This is about the fact that you think you want this so badly it doesn't matter how you get there, but I'm telling you right now, it will matter. One day you're gonna walk into that firm and your name will be on the wall and you'll know how it got up there and, trust me, it won't feel so great then."

She's right, obviously; even in his wasted state he can tell. But he's not ready to let it go just yet, so his works his jaw, stare fixed on the counter.

"You wanna keep going after her, I'm right there with you, you know that. But I'm not comfortable with how you're handling this whole thing, and I think that if you were to look at this from an honest perspective, you wouldn't be either," Donna continues.

"You done?" he asks, but there's no bite, just tiredness.

"Yeah," she says quietly and takes their mugs and sets them in the sink. He makes his way to his bedroom and brushes his teeth as she lays out more water and another alka-seltzer for tomorrow morning. She watches, arms crossed, as he takes off his shirt and slacks, too much history between them for either to be embarassed by it, and helps him into bed once he's in his undershirt and boxers.

"I left the pot ready for brewing tomorrow. Just don't have more than two cups in a row, you know that gives you a headache," she tells him from the door of his bedroom. He nods, but can't really find the right words. The last thing he sees before he dozes off is her black dress walking away from him.

4.

Harvey loves trains, always has, since he was a kid. He likes that the tracks are smoother than the road and you can just sit back, relax and enjoy the view. The route from New York to Boston is pretty, always leaves him nostalgic. He only ever takes the train when he’s going to see his father. 

This time he brings Donna. She doesn't come along often - in fact, it's only the second time. She came with him for the first anniversary of his father's death, and now. There isn't much of a point to it, except that this time last year she wasn't working for him, was barely even speaking to him, and he came alone as usual but it didn't feel okay as usual. It felt lonely and made him raw and sad. So this year is about making amends, with her and with himself. He's happy she came, and he thinks she was happy to come, too.

Still, it's a little weird to wake up from his nap with his nose practically buried in her hair. She was already asleep when he rearranged himself in his seat and closed his eyes, and she's still asleep now; he can see her face reflected in the window, eyelashes delicate against her cheeks. 

He straightens up, suddenly feeling weirdly caught, even though virtually no one else is paying him any attention, Donna is still asleep and he isn't even doing anything wrong in the first place. Then he keeps watching her.

It's been a strange year between them. He has effectively shut the whole memo thing away in his brain, refuses to tap into the mess and confusion and fear he felt when Donna wasn't coming to work every day. He doesn't like being dependent but, even though he's always been aware of her relevant contributions to his daily life, having her gone, even if for less than a month, showed him he has a hard time functioning properly when she’s not there. He meant it when he said he needed her and he's still grappling with the meaning and ramifications of that.

There were trust issues between them, his about her not telling him about the memo, hers about him supposedly not fighting for her. Then there was that goddamn trial run and he can feel, even now, the hot anger that coursed through him that day. He could have killed Louis, he really could have, and the thought frightens him a little.

She agreed to come back and he grovelled well beyond what he thought was necessary, in his own way, always trusting she'd be able to see it for what it was. And she did, and they were fine again. But this new "fine" is not the regular fine, not a fine he can test and prod at like he normally does. This new fine is fragile and sensitive and he's trying with all his might to protect it because no matter what happens, he can't risk losing her again.

So today was another olive branch, a show of his intention to keep her in his life in the ways he knows how. He knows how much she cared about his father, knows even more how much his father cared about her. Their weekly phone calls and his occasional trips to the city allowed them to forge a bond of their own, almost independent from Harvey. He has tried to let her know that she doesn't need an invitation to come visit, she is welcome to come to the grave or to Marcus' because she has long stepped over the line he'd drawn between work and family, - a line that is curiously still very much in place for everyone else.

But Donna isn't everyone else and everybody knows that.

Still, he doesn't think she's ever come on her own. He knows she tries to let him have today for himself, fielding calls, making all arrangements without him having to ask, and she has never really asked to come along, on the anniversary or otherwise. 

He wonders what his father told her about him, wonders what worries or expectations he might have shared with her about his son. Donna would never tell, he knows, but he also knows she's tried to nudge him in this or that direction and he suspects at least a part of that was due to his dad. He misses him, and he misses them, the three of them and how they used to go out to low-lit bars to hear lesser men play the sax. The beers, the peanuts, the stories he only pretended bothered him.

It's interesting, he realizes, how Donna has managed to snag a place for herself in his memories of his father. Many of his latest ones, maybe even some of his happiest ones. A lot of his childhood moments got debunked, cast in retrospective shadow after his mother's betrayal, and all the pure recollections are now either moments he spent alone with his dad or moments they spent with Donna. He can't remember the last time Marcus joined them, but he can retell vividly his last three outings with Donna and his dad.

Huh.

She stirs a little and he looks away, picking up the newspaper he'd been reading earlier.

"Wow, I really slept," she half-mumbles, voice muffled from sleep. She stretches her neck and sits up.

Harvey smiles a little, mostly to himself. "Yeah, you really did."

"Did you sleep too? Or did I just very indelicately leave you on your own for a full hour?" there's humor in her voice, but he also knows she worries, especially on days like this.

"I took a nap," he nods and abandons his decoy, glancing at her. 

"Did you notice they moved the hyacinths to the main entrance?" she asks out of the blue.

"They've always been there, haven't they?" he frowns, trying to rebuild a mental image of the cemitery.

"Well, last time I came along they weren't," she smirks a little.

"Did you really have something to say about the flower placement of the graveyard where my father's buried?" he lifts his eyebrows skeptically.

"They were butchering the landscape, I had to speak up," she replies with mock seriousness, then erupts into a grin. He grins along, not sure why he's surprised by this admission.

There's a moment of silence where they're both staring at their laps. Then Donna shifts. "I'm really glad I got to come along this time, Harvey. Thanks for inviting me." She's flashing him a sweet little smile, a grateful glint in her eyes. 

"Come on, you know how fond he was of you," he tries to deflect, suddenly a little flushed from her honesty.

"Oh, I know," she nods and his smile deepens, "It's just... different, coming with you. I know it's a special day for you and it means a lot to me that I get to be a part of it."

The corner of her mouth curls up, she waits a beat, then turns back to the window, watching the tiny towns rush by. The moment doesn't linger, but the warmth in his chest does.

Yeah, it's a special day. It was a very special day.

5.

Harvey stirs a little, barely conscious but already feeling the soreness in his muscles. He's supremely tired, slept on his stomach despite his neck, knows he'll have deep circles around his eyes and possibly a few marks across his skin. Still, he smiles.

He knows exactly where he is, knows why he's knackered and knows what he'll find as soon as he opens his eyes.

Donna. Naked. Asleep. Hopefully happy.

His eyelids flutter and he nuzzles further into her neck. She quirms. "Your nose is cold," she groans a little and complains, though it's weakened by the fact that she's also shifting closer to him. 

He hums sleepily and smiles, hopes she can feel it against her skin.

"Let's call in sick," he suggests and loves the way her chest rumbles as she chuckles.

"Both of us? How inconspicuous," she replies lazily.

"Okay, then let's come in late."

"Again, not very discreet if it's both of us."

"You do realize we slept, like, three hours total," he teases her.

"Oh, don't even try to pretend that if we went in late it would be to get more sleep," she laughs and he pulls away to finally get a proper look at her. She looks dishevelled, hair curled back into its natural state, face bare and eyes still sleepy.

"You're right, I don't want more sleep. I want more you," he smirks hungrily at her and starts laying kisses up her shoulder, across her clavicle.

"That was lame. Also, I'm not in my twenties anymore and neither are you," she grins and pinches his side.

He flinches at her touch. "Fine, we don't even need to do anything, I just want a few more minutes like this."

She watches him skeptically and he lets her, smiles earnestly down at her as he waits for her to find whatever she's looking for in his eyes.

"Oh wow, you're a total sap," she says finally, humored, sounding genuinely surprised.

"I'm not a sap," he rolls his eyes, "I'm just not used to waking up next to someone. It's nice."

"Next to _someone_?" she lifts a brow. Harvey grins.

"Next to you," he amends, because of course it's true, and ducks for a kiss.

"You were right, everything _has_ changed, huh?" she reflects quietly when they part.

"Yeah," he bites his cheek, "I hope that's a good thing?"

She smiles, a kind, sincere smile, "Yeah, Harvey. Last time we did this you didn't stay long enough for us to wake up together. I'd say change is definitely a good thing."

There's so much he wants to say to her, confessions he has buried for so long and suddenly needs to let out, but he chokes on the multitudes and ends up silent. It's something he'll have to work on, he knows, hopes he'll have her help to do it.

He lowers his lips to her neck, laying soft, open-mouthed kisses on her skin, as he pulls her body under his. Her hands smooth up his back and she tips her head to give him more access. He runs his palm down her naked side, appreciating the curves and crevices and every last inch of skin he denied himself for way too long.

He likes paying attention to the sounds she makes, trying to establish connections and decode what it means when she exhales like that or when her whimper comes out in a stutter.

He likes feeling her skin against his, the heat their bodies emit, how it washes over them like a wave. He especially likes it when her hands press into his flesh, when they're no longer just skimming the surface but digging, bringing him closer. 

He likes her fingers wrapped around strands of his hair, turning it messy, pulling on it. He likes the combination of his fingers and her body in any way it happens: his fingers over her, inside her, trailing lightly up her leg until she gets goosebumps.

He likes the way she smells, underneath the perfume and the shampoo and the soap. The very specific scent that clings to her skin and her pillows and now his memory.

He likes her tongue, the way it's twirling around his right now and that thing it did on his cock last night and when it soothes the little bites she likes to leave here and there.

He likes her breasts and her legs and her belly button and her hair, God, her hair. He likes her eyes, staring deep into his or shut tight 'cause she's about to come. He likes her name and her voice and her bed and he likes _this_.

"I mean it, Donna," he murmurs between kisses, "I want this."

"Yeah, I can tell," she smirks against his mouth, shifting her thigh so it rubs against his erection and he's forced to pause and exhale.

"Well, this too, but that's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?" she breathes out, though he can tell her focus is elsewhere when her hips shift under his suggestively.

He pulls back, wants her to see his face when he says it. She watches him expectantly, chest flushed and heaving.

"I wanna wake up next to you," he tells her and she bites her lip to keep the smile from spreading and he thinks he's one step closer to putting a name to that familiar warmth in his chest.


End file.
